Chapter Two
Revel
She fucking wants me. Bad.
And I ain’t being cocky. Not this time.
Cece can walk off with all that attitude swinging behind her and act like I’m a problem she’s already handled, but her pretty little body sold her out before her mouth could try and clean up the mess.
I saw her eyes hit my mouth. The way her grip tightened around that cup when I got close.
And every smartass comeback tonight took just a beat too long, like part of her wanted to see what I’d do before she remembered she was supposed to shut me down.
That’s not nothing.
That’s a woman talking herself out of showing just how much she’s affected.
I watch her cross the lot toward the garage, hair moving down her back. She doesn’t look back. Doesn’t even give me the satisfaction of a side-eye.
Mean.
Annoying as fuck, but hot.
She’s doing it on purpose too. That’s what really gets me.
Cece knows ignoring me hits harder than flirting would, and I hate that it fucking works. I hate that I’m standing here grinning at her back like some dumbass who just found a new bad habit and already knows he’s keeping it.
And yeah, there are plenty of other girls here I could chase instead of the one acting like wanting me would ruin her whole life.
But that’s the problem.
They’d be too easy.
The sweet ones are fun. The flirty ones are easy as hell to get into bed. But a woman who looks me dead in the face and treats me like a warning label she already skimmed and decided to ignore?
Yeah.
That’ll fuck with a man.
In all the best and worst ways.
I drag my tongue over my bottom lip and watch her disappear through the garage doors. Probably still smiling because she thinks her walking away means she won.
Fuck, maybe she did win.
For now.
But that’s the thing about running from a man who likes speed.
It doesn’t scare him off.
It makes him wonder what it’ll take to catch you.
“Don’t,” Talon says from behind me as he approaches.
I keep my eyes on the garage while Sayshen pulls his arm off my shoulders, shaking his head like he has any room to judge before wandering after Bexley.
Like he’s not just as bad.
“Don’t what?” I ask, turning my attention to Talon.
“That.”
“Bro, I’m not doing shit. I’m just standing here.”
“You’re staring.”
“I mean, I’ve got eyes,” I say. “And with an ass like that, not staring would be a fucking crime.”
Thorne snorts as he wanders over, catching enough of the conversation to make himself a problem.
“Mate, that’s fuckin’ tragic. She’s swerved you since the day your ass rolled into town, and you’re still stood there cheesin’ like every no is a bloody love letter. If she was into you, she’d have thrown you a bone by now. Common sense, innit?”
Talon is leaning against his bike with his arms crossed, looking too amused for someone who should mind his business. Thorne has a beer in one hand and that smug little expression he gets when he thinks he’s about to witness a disaster and has front-row seats.
“Bold of you to assume I have common sense.”
“Fair,” Talon adds with a shrug.
Cece is gone now, swallowed by black-painted walls, dim lights, and bass, but my eyes keep dragging back to the doors like if I stare long enough, she’ll feel it and come back out just to tell me to fuck off again.
Which would be pathetic.
Also, kind of hot.
“Fuck me,” I say, rubbing my thumb over my bottom lip. “She’s so fucking mean.”
Talon’s mouth twitches. “And?”
“And it gets me going, dude.” I glance back at the doors, still grinning like I’ve got no damn sense. “Like she opens her mouth and insults me, and my brain goes, yeah, let’s make that worse.”
Talon laughs under his breath. “That is not healthy, dude.”
“Never said it was healthy. But it’s fucking fun.”
“Fun? Man your face says something else.”
I glance at him. “What’s my face saying?”
“That you should probably apologize to God before bed for whatever nasty shit is happening in your head right now.”
I grin. “God blocked me. And who said my thoughts are nasty?”
Talon tips his bottle toward the garage. “Dude, you were watching her walk away like you were imagining her yelling at you naked.”
A couple guys near the bikes glance over.
My head snaps toward him. “Bro, lower your fucking voice.”
Talon laughs harder. “What? Am I wrong?”
“First of all, yes.” I point at him. “Second of all, don’t talk about my girl naked unless you want me standing in this parking lot with a full chub and zero shame.”
Talon stares at me. “Your girl?”
I shrug, eyes drifting back to the garage. “Working on it.”
Thorne nearly spits into his beer. “Bloody Christ, bruv.”
“What?”
“Nothin’ about this twat is respectful.” Thorne shakes his head, laughing like he’s genuinely embarrassed to be near me. “Girl tells you to piss off once and you start actin’ like it’s foreplay. Tells you twice and suddenly you’re pickin’ baby names.”
“I’m not picking baby names.”
They both stare at me.
I shrug. “Not out loud.”
“Jesus Christ,” Talon mutters.
“What?” I look back at the garage doors, a grin tugging at my mouth before I can stop it. “You saw her. She’s all attitude and legs and that little look like she wants to stab me just to see if I’ll smile through it. Fuck, that’s the shit I live for. Can’t blame a man for having vision.”
Thorne points his beer at me. “Vision? Bruv, that’s not vision. That’s a whole fuckin’ problem.”
“Yeah,” Talon says. “A clinical one.”
I lift both hands. “Relax. I’m behaving.”
“Dude,” Talon says, “you just threatened to get hard in public.”
“Didn’t threaten.” I grin. “Warned.”
Thorne laughs into his cup. “You’re down bad.”
I run my hands down my face, still smiling like an idiot. “No shit. Keep up.”
“And would you?” Talon asks. “Smile through her stabbing you?”
I grin. “Shit, probably. Depends where she stabs me.”
Thorne groans. “You need puttin’ down.”
“I need a drink of water and maybe five more minutes of her being mean to me.”
“You’re calling that flirting?” Talon asks.
“No.” I tilt my head, “I’m calling it jerk-off material for later.”
Talon chokes on a laugh. “Dude.”
“What?”
Thorne snorts into his beer. “Mate, didn’t I hear she referred to you as community service?”
“That means she thinks I’m worth saving.” I grin. “Or helping, at least. Either way—progress.”
“And she threatened your teeth,” Talon says. “Again”
“Just means she was looking at my mouth.”
Thorne shakes his head. “You could turn a restraining order into encouragement, couldn’t you?”
“Only from the right woman.”
Talon laughs, dragging a hand over his jaw. “Jesus fuck, you’re actually insane.”
“No. I’m fucking motivated.”
I say it like a joke, and the guys take it like one, because that’s how this shit works. I run my mouth, they run theirs, everybody laughs, and nobody looks too hard at the fact I’m still standing there with my nerves lit up like I need to be doing something super fucking stupid.
Moving.
Riding.
Picking a fight.
Anything but standing still.
That restless shit under my skin doesn’t settle. It never really has.
People think it’s just personality. Loud mouth. Big ego. No survival instincts. The asshole who hits the throttle harder because he’s too cocky to believe the road can bite back.
They’re not completely wrong.
But they don’t know what the quiet does to a kid who grew up waiting for the next door to slam, the next bag to get packed, the next adult to decide he was too much fucking work.
Stillness gives my head too much room, and my head is a shitty place to be alone.
That’s why engines make sense.
Wind makes sense.
A hard lean into a turn makes sense, because at that speed, there’s no room for ghosts. No room for old houses, old caseworkers, old beds that were never really yours. No room for the kind of memories you turn into jokes because nobody knows what the fuck to do when you hand them the truth.
Lena knew.
She was the first person I met who looked at all that ugly shit and didn’t flinch. Same system. Same kind of damage. Different scars.
But I’m not thinking about that tonight.
I’m thinking about Cece.
About the way she looks at me like I’m trouble she has no intention of needing, while every little reaction she tries to hide says she’s curious what kind.
About that mouth. That attitude. That locked-up, don’t-touch-me energy that makes me want to get close enough to find out what happens when she runs out of insults.
She feels like danger too.
Just not the kind I can outride.
And that’s probably the fucking problem.
I already want another hit.
****
By the time the night starts bleeding out, most of the lot has cleared.
The music inside the garage is lower now, bass muffled through the black-painted walls instead of shaking the pavement.
A few people linger near the bay doors, finishing drinks and dragging out goodbyes, but the chaos is thinning.
Engines start one by one. Kickstands scrape up.
Headlights cutting across the lot before swinging toward the street.
The air has cooled just enough to make the heat rolling off the bikes noticeable, all warm metal, rubber, and gasoline. Usually, that’s my cue to get the fuck out before the quiet gets too comfortable.
I swing a leg over my bike and settle onto the seat, gloves dangling from one hand, helmet resting against my thigh.
Across the lot, Bexley pulls Cece into a quick hug and says something that makes her laugh.
Really laugh,
Cece tips her head back, hair slipping over her shoulder, phone loose in one hand, and that sound hits me in the chest like it has any fucking right to.
Fuck me.
That laugh is goddamn hazardous.
Bex squeezes her arm once more, then cuts across the lot and climbs into Talon’s passenger seat, still leaning out long enough to wave. Cece lifts her phone back at her, some silent girl-code promise to text when she gets home.
Talon pulls out a second later, taillights washing red over the pavement, and Sayshen follows on his bike, engine loud as fuck because the man can’t leave anywhere without announcing it.
Then they’re gone and the lot goes quiet.